Particles of sand swept from beneath my feet
As the wind blows into the nonexistent future
Uncovering remnants of a past set in stone
Relieves my dry mouth with a taste so bittersweet
But in the end my solace is only a mirage
A fleeting feeling carried away by the dry air
impatience prolongs erosion
To leave my mountain of guilt for an indefinite stay

The lure of gold brought Fifty-Niner’s in droves
     to the Kansas-Nebraska territory
laden with packs, picks, pans and shovels -
      hell-bound for adventure and facile wealth.

Placer miners squatted beside frigid streams,
    dipping their pans and filling their sacks
with nuggets bound for the assayer's verdict.

Mine towns sprang up where the veins were strong.
    In ******* Creek, Leadville, Independence and Central City,
the valleys rang with the strident cacaphony of
     drills and explosives - burrowing shafts deep
into the ore-rich valleys and mountain slopes.

Headlamps lit and shadowed mazes of timbered tunnels
     where men piled rock high into mine cars
headed for the mammoth crushers at Idaho Springs.

Whiskey freely flowed in saloons and hotels
     where raucous miners let off steam with
every mode and cast of ***** talk pleasures

In time, the veins were spent and profits dwindled.
     When the drama ended and the curtain fell,
the miners vanished - leaving only ghost towns behind
      and a new state named for its reddish river – Colorado.

A purple veil enveloped the peaks and ridges
      along the mystical divide
           where snowpack and summer rains
      chart opposite courses toward distant seas.

Born of the ancient heave and shudder
       of oceanic and continental plates,
             the Rockies transfix our wondering eyes
        by the spell of their arcane mysteries.

So it has been for those who carved our trails
       and called their mountians by name:
             Arapaho - hoh'enii
                  Hopi - tuukwe
                        Ute – Kåib

All of these good fellow journey folk
      have listened to the same timeless airs
            chanted by murmuring streams and cataracts
       and seen hope reflected in an alpine lake.

We have heard the soaring calls of the Rockies
      on either side of the great divide
         We have heard the mountains’ healing presence
      softly whispering us to our homes.

चलते रहो और आगे बढ़ो,
तोह बस हम भी चल पड़े,
अपनी रूह की तलाश में,
पहाड़ो पे चल दिये, नदिया किनारे पे बैठ लिए,
जहन दो पल सुकून, हर वो जगह पे चल दिये,
यह पीड़ा, यह चोट जोह लगी ह इस रूह पे,
इस एहसास को मिटाने की हमारी यह लाखों कोशिशें जोह ठहरी ,
उझाला भी अंधकार है, रोशनी की तड़प में जतपटाते से चल दिये,
आंखें जैसे बटन की तरह खुली, बन्द करने पे मौत और खुली रहे तोह अन्धकार,
जाऊ कहाँ बताओ ज़रा, हर पल सलाह देने वाली मंडली का पत्ता ही बता दो ज़रा,
पूछेंगे उनसे हमारी रूह का पता,
टोटके तोह बताएं कैसे करूँ इससे रिहा ,
कहलेंगे इस रूह को रो भी लो ज़रा,
फुट फुट के रोयेगी, इस घुटन के फांदें को तोड़ेगी,
मलहम लगाएंगे उन गहरी चोट पे , प्यार से सिरहेँगे, सुकून की लोरी जोह गाएंगे,
बिछड़े हुई साथी को फिरसे जीना सिखाएंगे।।

The world is dark
but the moon is big enough,
bright enough
to light it up just enough to make out
the dark grey silhouette
of the mountains
against the blue-grey sky.

The hustle of the day goes quiet.
The stars are out.
The night is chilly,
but warm enough
that you don’t need a jacket.

What a perfect night to be lonely.

This bittersweet sap slows time down.
It feels thick and slightly cloudy.
Its the feeling of being full and heavy.
It is happy and overbearingly sad
all at once.
But this sap
is comfortable
and welcoming.
I want the quiet night
and bittersweet sap
to last forever.

The welcome sun gilded, the mighty seven mountain peaks
As fingers adorned with rings, they lay aloft our eyes
Beneath our feet, the silent sleeping snowy snake
Conquered on the kiss of cold, a cambered frozen line.

The eternal night of valour, written in silver past
Still shining in the faces of unshuffled uniforms of bravery
Twenty daring sons of motherland, in the ticking clock of darkness
On the giddy throng of foes, fallen lightning strokes.

Time was what they need, till the distant succour
They fought an infinite war, fringing their martyrdom
Until the land kisses, the unclouded moment of victory
For the present cradles to sing, made their last salute.